


To give is to receive

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Cunnilingus, Disproportionate amount of sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mildly Dominant Dean, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Outdoor Sex, Rugaru, Sex, Sex in the Impala, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, mild dominance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fakeguinevere said:  “I just read “Tails, you lose” and fell in love with your writing (again, it already happened with your other stories). I was wondering if you would write a story where Dean and the reader are dating but are in an open relationship (like they can sleep with other people and so) Maybe I am the only one finding so weird for Dean to not have random hook ups? anyway, I think you could do great things with this prompt so I’m leaving it there just in case… Thanks for all your stories!!”</p><p><b>Summary:</b> Dean breaks the seal on whatever it is between you, but he’s not yet ready to tell Sam about it.  Solution? Go on with business as usual...</p>
            </blockquote>





	To give is to receive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fakeguinevere](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fakeguinevere).



> So, I’ve never dealt with or written about open relationships, but I think they take a lot more talk and time than this to set up. I struggled a bit, coz it took a lot of squinting and brain bending to be on board with Dean being open and not AU… anyway, you found my weakness FG (praise gets folks just about anything with me) - I hope you like it!

You hear a great rattling bang against the corrugated tin of the barn, at the back, and Dean’s call for you has that flavour of caution and urgency.  You find him cornered by the rugaru, a rusty disc harrow trapping him on his right, the can of fuel dropped out of reach. You lose no speed as you come at the monster, stamping a foot against his ribcage to knock him into the harrow.  The round discs cut into his torso as he falls awkwardly and the sound he makes is wrenching and pitiful.  You lunge back for the fuel, holding it high to douse him from a distance, buckling the can in your hands.  Dean yanks you back as you drop the container and he pitches a flame forwards.  You both step back, kicking away the straw and twigs, and wait till it stops screaming…

“Right,” you mutter and sweep your gaze over the horizon, not wanting to watch any more of this, and checking for witnesses.  The view seems lifeless, so you turn to leave.

Before you get to the corner, you’re against the wall yourself, cheek to cold tin, your jacket pushed up around your ears as Dean shoves the heels of his hands under your shoulder blades and it squishes the shit out of your breasts.

“What the fuck was that?” he snaps in your ear, words heavy with spit.

“What?!” you say.  You frown against the cold metal pressing against your temple and ear, and try to get your feet under you.

Dean yanks you backwards and turns you, his big hands grabbing your shirt front and good lengths of sleeve too.  Thumping you against the wall again, his elbows press against your upper arms and your view is just furious Dean and overcast sky.

“What the fuck were you doing attacking like that?” he says, his words cutting against your face.

You scowl and pull your knee up between you, pushing it into his gut to lever him away.  It half works, but he twists his hips, slipping inside of it, and gets his thighs between yours to finalise the hold.

“Fuck you!” you puff.  “What was wrong with that?”

“You were practically standing in a puddle of fuel, Y/N,” he ground out. “I don’t know how you didn’t go up too.”  

He presses his arms and legs and you notice his eyes rake over your face, down to your neck, before he refocuses.  Your frown is starting to be less about the argument and more about what the hell is going on.  Suddenly you feel your pelvis and groin tighten, reacting to how he’s holding you open with his body.

You clench your jaw and tell him “Because you’re mistaken, _Dean_. I was dry.  Now get the fuck off me.”

He pauses, and you push, getting your hands against his ribs, thrusting forward as best you can with a grunt.  He pushes back, jutting his jaw with insistence.

“Fucking _what_?” you yell, and push again, this time noticing the hardness in his jeans as he comes flush against you.  You’d be incredulous, shocked, if it didn’t thread together a long list of words unsaid and glances just caught.  He sees you notice and his lips part.

His eyes lock onto your mouth and you breathe _What?_ again but he’s on you.  You _mmph_ against him, his full lips mashing so hard your can feel him on your teeth, then he pulls back, looking you in the eye.  

“I gotta fit this in before you go and kill yourself,”’ he says.  He plants his mouth over yours, eyes closed, and pauses sternly, waiting to feel you kiss back.  Your hands snatch fists of fabric by his waist and you pull at him with your lips.  You know it’ll set him off, but it’s not just that; it’s the way you gasp, the tip of your tongue reaching forward, and your thighs tightening beside his.  He feels your whole body respond and moans against you in relief, kissing voraciously while everything below the neck is rigid.

Dean mouths at your cheek, roughly shoving your head aside to get to your neck, under your ear.  You let out a loud “Ah!” at the biting and pressure, four fat ridges of metal doing nothing to cushion your back and pelvis.  He adjusts his hold over your jacket, pushing his right hand’s purchase into the left, pulling the fabric tight across your shoulders and upper arms. He shoves his hand between you, knuckles catching on zips and buttons, and cups your groin.

You cry out in surprise and he latches his mouth onto yours, almost stilling himself against you if only his fingers would stop working up into the apex of your jeans, pushing fabric into your core.  You whimper your moan against his lips, a pitiful _mmm-hm-hm!_ into him.

“Can we? Please?” he asks, close enough to catch your lips in his words. “Can we have each other? While it’s just us?”

You puff and whisper _oh! Shit!_ and think a moment…  

“Y/N,” he adds, a little quieter, “you could tell, right… about me?”

“…I wasn’t sure,” you puff.  “But I wanted-”

“D'y'want to?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. ’S'a good idea.”

“I thought so,” he murmurs and his tongue is back in you, interrupting your breath while his fingers dance over the buttons and metal, taking only moments to get your fly open.  He pushes his hand inside your pants, palm out, and gapes them open left, right, yanking your hips about before sliding all four fingers into your underpants and wrenching them downwards a good foot on the first go.  The roughness of him is rasping your skin and the cold metals stings your cheeks. Your fingers try to help him with his buckle and such but your reach is stuck short.  He shoves his jeans and briefs down with the heel of his hand and thumps back against you.  Then he’s got a condom between his teeth, staring at you as he rips it open to pull out the protection, spitting the wrapper from his lips, and slides it on, your eye contact unbreaking as you both watch each other before this happens.

He drops his knees a little to get himself under your softness, his cock quickly hardening as he inches it back and forth a few times between your thighs.

“I need,” you puff against him, “I need something, down there…”

Dean disappears, his fist of shirt almost pushing into your chin as he drops.  You barely have time to register his breath on you, even a facial feature, before his tongue is pushing firmly between your lips, above your clitoris, and he ploughs it downwards in a reverse lick reaching it all the way to your opening, with a generous lap. You almost sob your high, “Aaah _Fuck_ Dean!!” and he tongues over your opening, adding to the wetness that’s barely had a chance to begin.  He _mmphs_ against you, coming back to briefly kiss and lap between your labia before standing again.

“Uh, Christ!” you plead when he reappears.

“Yeah, I know,” he kisses you quickly, “too fuckin’ sweet for a quickie.”  He threads his cock between your folds and you flinch and cry out at the hot, surprising thickness of him, your mind galloping to keep up with the revelations as they come.  Wrenching your left arm free, you grab onto the back of his head and pull him against you.  

Just forwards and backwards once and he ducks his hips to angle himself, finding the deepest part and firmly pushes into you.

He clenches his jaw to groan at the tightness, and straightens his legs for the last inches, your voice quavering in your throat as you try to contain your noise.  

“I’m gonna count to ten…” he promises.  He presses his forehead to yours, rolls his head a little, letting you both breathe, and you think you can feel every wrinkle of skin, every curve and ridge inside you, an exquisite sting and stretch.

Then he pulls out and in, no warning, just an audible “Hu-uh” on the first go.  “Uuuuh, Y/N,” he gently knocks his head on yours, “tell me you feel okay.  I’m fighting gravity here.”

“Mmm,” you swallow, “yeah, Dean.  Well beyond okay.”

He kisses you hard enough to get a noise from you both, almost back to speed, then practically throws your face aside to get at your neck again, planting his teeth on you as he starts pummelling, pitch perfect and thumping his pelvic bone against your clit.  Your voice bounces out of you on every beat, high and pleading, and you pull at his hair from your pinned position, his hand holding your ass under the cheek.

The pleasure ramps up exponentially and you writhe under him, your core barely swelling before it starts to reign itself tight again, winding up for a choking orgasm that has your thighs cramping and Dean wincing inside it as he comes.  He wraps his hand around your head too and kisses you.  Your jacket is finally released and he threads his arm around your waist, bending you into him as he buries his face in your neck and pulses the last of it.  And you pause…

“I’m…” you puff.  “I’m gonna count to twenty…”

He smiles against you and lifts his face to meet your lips.  Seconds pass as you puff into each other’s mouths, lips resting.  He licks at you and you tighten your hold on his head, asking for more and he obliges, kissing gently, with want, while he slowly, gingerly, withdraws. He eases his hold and you almost shudder as the cool air fills the little space now between you.

“Let me down,” you say, and slide yourself down the metal, resting on your haunches.  You feel the cuffs of your jeans against your exposed ass as you feel fresh wetness slide off you.  With your eyes closed, you rest your forearms on your knees and Dean slumps down beside you on your right, everything tucked back in but tufts of dark-blonde curls visible below the flannel.  You both puff and kind of squint between swallows.  

One hot hand lands high on your thigh and you reach your left hand across to squeeze his fingers.

You look over, meaning to smile, to say something reassuring or even sassy, but to be honest, your gaze is distracted.  Dean follows it and finds himself caught too, both of you now peering at the immolating body of a rugaru as it gently crackles under flame.

* * *

 

You ask Dean “You okay?”  before the car’s even started.

He looks over at you, a cheeky kind of _Well, you know I’m better than okay_ starting on his face already, but he loses it, lets it slip away as he sees you looking at him.

You’re concerned but feeling positive, somehow.  As his expression relaxes you start to see him differently, in a way he’s never given you before.  He blinks some, his mouth falls open a little as he thinks, and he rests one forearm on the steering wheel and one on the back of the seat to face you better.

You start to smile, to let him know you’re happy right now.  

In one move, he’s slid across the bench and cupped your jaw, catching you in a soft, generous, rolling kiss.  It’s warm and sweet, his smell reminding you of what just happened, and you sweep your mind over how lightly he holds you this time.  

He laps and tastes at you, his spare hand landing on your shoulder and sliding down to your wrist.  You lead his hand to your waist and place your own on his cheek, fingers over his ear, thumb almost to his eyelashes.

You let him pull you near, your leg unfolding over his lap as he turns you toward him and your mind comes back to what his lips and tongue are doing to you, the conversation your mouths are having like _You too? Yes me too, thank god_.

The kiss breaks, air rushing into you both.  Straight away he’s apologising “That’s not, Y/N, with before, that’s not necessarily the way I wanted to start something with you-”

“’S ok-”

“I just couldn’t choose how to begin and then-”

“Don’t apologise, Dean.  It was… _good_.”

He stops and nods.  “Mmm, didn’t feel bad,” he agrees.  He looks into your eyes and nuzzles you a little, kisses the corner of your mouth. “Fuck it, we have to get back.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, sitting back and finding your phone.  “I’ll text Sam.”

He lets his hands slide back to your hand and knee, squeezing them good-bye before shifting back and starting the car.

Half an hour later, you’re back at the motel, packing the last of your things and freshening up before all three of you head back to the bunker.  You settle into the back seat for a nap, some gear for a pillow.

“So you guys are okay?” Sam checked.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded.  “Yeah, we got out scratch free.”

“Actually, Y/N, you’ve got a bit around here,” Sam advised, waving around his neck to indicate.

You managed to not glance at Dean when you answered, “Yeah… shrubbery.”

“Okay, so home first,” he went on, “but just for the night.  We’ve got a job in Texas.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup, jealous guy cursed his brother and sister-in-law, pretty sure he had the woman kill the husband – in the weirdest way, omens and all – and she’s miraculously with the guy now, so… I dunno, that might be a slippery slope for him.  Man there’s gotta be a word for the insanity that comes with being a third wheel,” he muttered absently.

Dean looks at Sam with the flattest _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ face you’ve ever seen, and you put your hand over your eyes before anything else can be said.

Dean starts texting you that afternoon, not even trusting the echoing bunker to provide any privacy, and suggests that things should be kept under wraps and on hold until he knows better how Sam might react.  You sigh and thumb back your agreement, not wanting to have any grief over this, then feel a warm thrill run over you as the realisation dawns: it _is_ something and he’s making plans about it.  

Lifting the curse in Texas is relatively quick.  It’s strangely reassuring to find the curser is a complete flip-job, a guy who feels so entitled it borders on narcissism.  The cursees were perfectly normal, best you can tell, but neither you nor Dean are keen to stick around and you usher Sam outta there as soon as the spell is lifted and the culprit is in cuffs, leaving him for the cops to figure out.

You find you can pretend nothing ever happened with Dean, provided you’re occupied.  It’s the quiet and dark moments that ruin you – breakfast, bedtime, falling asleep, injuries, any of those mundane interactions that may or may not happen, and without any routine to follow you instantly forget what the hell it was you ever did in those times.  So sharing a motel room ‘like normal’ is _not_ normal any more.  You find yourself beginning nearly every communication with Dean with an internal and robotic “He is my friend” just so you can maintain normal eye contact and proximity.

And of course, the inevitable hurdle presents itself: So, two jobs down and you’re in a nice, big town.  Let’s go to a bar, yeah?  Sure! Of course!  Who wouldn’t wanna?!  

So far, Sam still detects nothing…

* * *

 

You and Sam take a booth while Dean ordered some drinks.  With his boot on the rail, you have a good view – your favourite view – of the heads that angle toward him.  From the blatant stares begging him to look back, to the “god I hope he doesn’t see me looking at him with my peripheral vision”, you _love_ watching this, every time…

Your mind would run commentary on the expressions you’d see as people take him in:   _Yeah, that’s his butt, if you think it looks good in jeans you should see it in a bath towel;  Ten bucks says you’ve got a thing for lobe nibbling, sweetheart – and yes you should spend every penny on his; Oh shit, here she comes, no honey, less stroll more swagger, get in there!_

You’d watch him rake his eyes over them, tripping on carefully revealed curves and lengths of skin, appreciating shine and shape, and they drink in the attention.  At some point he’d smile and crinkle his eyes and they’d all lose it for a moment, letting out a full-strength grin of delight, or touching him as they laughed wholly, despite themselves, coz he’s just so nice to look at and they can’t believe their luck.  They’d sip on their straws and stare at his lips – which, you were pretty sure, he’d see too coz that’s when he’d begin to make plans about what and where next.  Every time, you could spot that moment when he either offered, or they decided they would, and they’d get a bit closer, their eyes sparkling up at him as they imagined versions of what you’d done just days ago, and fight to keep their smiles toothless.  He’d wrap an arm around them and they’d make a blatant bee-line for the door, joined at the hip.  

On the other hand, there was nothing quite like the times they’d get a bit more drunk, if someone was feeling a little hotter or confident, and they urgently fumble-stumble to the bathroom or some corner, lips already beginning.  Those times had you scanning the room for anyone who was simply good _enough_ to help you with what all that started.

It was such a treat to watch him work his magic, to see how the magic freaking materialised around him, that guys had even used it as a starter with you.  “You don’t seem to be making a move on Whatsisname over there.  He not your type?”  was the usual way they’d interrupt your viewing pleasure.  “He’s a workmate,” you’d reply, and as often as not you’d give up Dean’s show to focus on your newest 'friend’.

Tonight promised to be extra interesting.  You hadn’t had a chance to talk to Dean about how this would go, and you decide sooner rather than later would be kindest.

You collect Sam’s drinks from the bar and deliver them to the booth saying “Just gonna have a quick chat with Dean.”

You catch the eye of a girl who’s lapping up her view of Sam.  You’ve left him all alone, and you smile encouragingly, maybe even nodding in his direction to lead her in.  She’s already out of her chair by the time you’ve taken a stool.

“So tonight,” you start calmly as you grab your drink.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, obviously thinking about the same issue.

“Don’t do anything differently, okay?”  you sip and look at him sideways.

“How’s that going to work?” he turns towards you, leaning his elbow on the wood and spying his brother making progress with the girl already. He relaxes a little, expecting Sam to be distracted, but he still keeps a sociable distance.

“Okay, so I have two confessions,” you lick your lips and plant your drink to tell him fair and square.  “I like picking up people and I think you do too.”  He pouts and look at his hands: no comment.  You go on, “ _And…_ I’ve never actually been on board with monogamy being the end-all-be-all of a good relationship.”

He looks at you now, eyebrows high as his face stays tilted downwards.

“Considering we’re trying to go on with business as usual, how about we do that?”

“Hang on,” he says, looking straight at you now, seriously and a bit apprehensive.  “You saying you want an open relationship?”

“If you want to,” you say firmly with a nod.

He turns back to the bar, leaning both elbows and gulps the rest of his glass.

“You seemed to be wanting something to happen with us that’s somewhat… longer term,” you continue, “and I do too, very, _very_ much, but if you want to keep it from Sam, we kinda don’t have much choice.  This is the only thing that does both… and I’m fine with it.”

“You’re fine with it,” he repeats to himself.

“Are you okay?” you check.

“Yeah, I’m just… recalibrating,” he takes a deep breath and faces you again.  

“Would we tell the people? The one’s were with, also?” he asks awkwardly, but you’re glad since it’s a sign he’s considering it and figuring it out.

“Up to you,” you decide on the spot.  “Maybe go case by case.  It’s not like we’re preparing a room for anyone, not with our lives.” You smile at him, openly and kindly, and he forgets himself, smiling back, almost laughing before he looks over at Sam again to see if he’s caught your intimate moment.  Sam’s in the middle of one of his own anyway.

“Would it help,” you offer, “if I told you that watching you with women turns me on?”

“Really?” he says, a cheeky smile sliding across his mouth.  “So all those times you were pretending to not look at me when we were out at bars…?”

“Yeah, I was pretending.”

He looks at you like he wants to shake his head.  You can’t tell if he’s amazed, thrilled, or still just stunned.  “Did you ever catch me doing the same?”

“What, watching me hit and get hit on?”

“Yeah,” he says, licking his lip.

“No!” you laugh.  “Did you?”

“Every damn time,” he says lowly.  “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen, Y/N, the way you bewitch them.”

Something about the way he says it makes you suck in a deep breath and you bite your lip to remind yourself _Not right now, not with him_. Both of you are too distracted to even think of anyone else noticing this moment between you.

“Let’s give it a go,” you say, and give his wrist a squeeze as you lean in close to his ear to add “Tell me all about it afterwards.”

You walk off to the bathroom to give him his space and figure out your own.  

When you return, there’s a girl moving like she’s already pressed against Dean’s chest.  You can see he’s willing to go along with her, but distracted at the same time.  Sam’s in up to his chin with his date, so you find a spot along the bar away from them both and order another drink.  You don’t watch Dean, much, and try to give him his space.  Before the first minute is out, however, a guy has sidled up to you, interrupting your view of Dean and he’s nice enough to be interesting.

“Think I can distract you from him?” he begins.

“If you’d like to,” you answer.  

“Would be my pleasure to try,” he says and offers his hand.  “Lewis.”

“Y/N,” you take it.  “How are you, Lewis?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m wondering what happened that you two aren’t busy tonight.  Did he bumped his head or something?”

“No,” you smile, “we’re just okay with other people.”

He doesn’t seem to get what you mean, so changes the subject, asking about what you like to drink, good bars you’ve seen, random things between finding reasons to touch you and lean closer.  He smells nice, like mint and musk, and you can see how well he fills his jacket, what his belt is holding onto.  You let him lean into your space and catch glances of Dean doing the same.  Then Lewis asks, “When you said before, that you’re okay with other people, what did you mean?”

“I meant that we’re together, but we’re okay with flings on the outside,” you finish your drink.  “We travel a lot.”

Lewis stares at you, unsure of what this would mean for him, or what he’s getting into, so you try explaining a bit more.  “So tonight, he’s probably going to go do something with her, and if you’re okay, I might do something with you.”

“I’m not into exhibitionism,” he says.

“Oh, _God_ no,” you frown, clarifying.  “No, it’s not a kinky scene.  It’s just fun with others.”  You lean forward, so that your breath plays on his neck, and let your fingertips tickle his hairline.  “For instance, they’ll probably go the parking lot somewhere, but we could use the ladies…”

* * *

The motel room felt crowded.  Dean seemed to have a bit more trouble relaxing, but you smiled as often as you could and found a moment to squeeze his hand while Sam wasn’t watching.

Finally back at the bunker, Dean waited a whole hour before coming to your room.  You even left the door ajar to help with the stealth.  For the most part, you expected a long chat, but when he did ease the door closed he didn’t even ask how you were, or say hello.  In fact the look he gave you when he turned around was… damning.

“Do you have any idea what the hell you’re doing to me?” he said, much quieter than you expected.

You’ve got yourself in your silky nightwear, sitting against your pillows, your blankets over your crossed legs and carefully took him in.  “Not sure I catch your meaning.”

“She…” he looks at the wall beside you as he recalls, “She asked if you were going to watch,-”

“Ha, so did Lewis,” you say softly.

“And then, when I said no, but I might tell you about it and is that okay,” he sakes his head, “she practically burst into flames.”

“In a good way?”

“The best.”

You smile at him and pat the bed, but he doesn’t move.  Just stares at you with what you hope is hunger.

“Did you like that?” you ask.

His jaw pulses as his eyes finally look over you a little more – your camisole hanging off your curves and peaks, your hair mussed and resting.  He looks you in the eye again and asks, voice tight and sandy, “What did Lewis… do to you?”

You tilt forward, watching him as you crawl to the end of the bed, and sit back on your feet, knees wide, as you say “He took me to the ladies and fucked me.”

Dean swallowed.

“And then I fucked him.”

He’s chest drops a little and you tell the story for him, unmoving and daring him to break the stand off.  “He almost lost his shit when he saw I knew how to jimmy the lock.  Got me into a stall, all kisses and hands.  Good kisser.  He’s big, about your height, but narrower, smelled good too.  He asked me how I could be firm and soft all at once while he got the condom on.”

You change position, sitting on the edge of the mattress with your hands besides your tight knees, wiggling a little as you go on.  “He went me from behind.  Hooked my hand over the partition wall and held it there, and it was good.  Really good, but the whole thing started to creak and wobble, coz I was bracing myself so hard every thrust was being taken by the bolts and screws.”

Dean is breathing through his mouth now, apparently doing everything in his power to keep still, but his pyjama pants betray him: that part moves with every heartbeat.  

You stand and step slowly, stopping inches from his body and into his emanating heat.  He tilts his head down to follow you, eyes trained on your mouth as you quietly tell the last chapter of your story. “So I told him to sit on the toilet – had a nice sturdy lid and all – and I sat on his cock.  He was going to town on my nipples, which was gorgeous, but a bit too much too soon.  So I pinned his arm behind his back,” - Dean drops is head minutely, pupils blown at the image, and you lock his gaze while you edge closer on each word. “Then I planted my hand on the wall behind him to get some proper leverage.  And I fucked him like he was me and I was you, with my mouth on his pulse and him swearing for mercy.”

You lean back a little, and let Dean breathe.  You can feel your pussy ache, your clit practically swollen from the memories, but you still manage to keep your legs still and your hands to yourself.  “Then I gave him a dozen or so kisses to let him know how good he’d been.”

“Did he,” Dean clears his throat, “did he say thank you?”

“He asked for my number,” you confess, “and kissed me back.  A lot… what about you?”

“Shit, Y/N,” he sighs, which doesn’t calm him much.  “I dunno I can even explain it.”

“Really? You wanna sit down to think about it?” you collect a few of his fingers and turn, leading him back to the bed.  “You want me to sit on you while you tell me about it?”

He wraps his arms around you from behind, tight and tense, and presses his lips against your ear to tell you.  “She pulled me outside and demanded to know which car was mine, full of curses and compliments about that and then asked me to fuck her on the back seat.  Straight off, she was talking like a sailor, pushy, grabby-”

“Do you like that?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” he nuzzled against you a little, “sometimes, when I’m with someone, if they really want me, or want sex, and she was… demanding.”

“What did she say?”

“She had me on the seat, pants down, and had her mouth and tongue on me in seconds, talking about how I should tell you what I like, get you to try and do as good a job-”

“Competitive?”

“Hell yes,” he turns you toward him, pulling against you so tightly you can hardly breathe let alone move.  When he speaks, you can feel his words against your temple. “She rode me, hands pressing up against the roof, breasts bouncing, and told me to pretend she was you.  I said I didn’t want to, or need to, do that.  I said 'I’m here with you, so I’m going to fuck you like you’re you.'”

“Good man,” you say.

He collects your hands and holds them loosely behind your back, fingers threaded, leaning over a little and bending you into him so he can look you in the eye.  “I flipped her over and pounded her into the leather like I was shipping out tomorrow, kissing and licking, teeth on her bones, loudest orgasm those windows ever heard.”

“Did she like it?”  

“She clung to me for 5 whole minutes.”

“Because you are, very much, Dean, a good man.”

He rests his lips and nose on your cheek.  “I don’t wanna talk about others when I’m in you.”

“You don’t have to,” you say gently.  “We can do this however you like.”

“I want you,” he says, squeezing and pressing even harder.  You’re starting to feel it in your lungs.  “I want you so much.”

“Where do you want me?” you ask, slipping a hand away to caress his brow and run your fingers down behind his ear.  “How do you want me, baby?”

“Every which way I can,” he breathes, and holds your chin to kiss you, open mouthed and tongue reaching, the force of it making you lean back.  

His attention over you is grows frantic and dominating, commanding all your space, you’re starting to wonder if he’s upset about something. “Are you okay?” you check again.  “We didn’t really talk about this a whole lot.  Are you-”

“No, Y/N, I’m good,” he says breathlessly, his face and hands running over you so fast you can hardly track them.  “I can’t believe my fucking luck.  Talk later.”

“Okay-”

“I’m just trying to think of how to fuck you without Sam hearing it.”

“You know I think he’d be okay,” you start, trying to kiss back as his skin flies by, the fabric of your short, silky pyjamas slipping all over you with his actions.

“Nu-uh,” he says.  He pulls the lace of your cami down and uses his knuckles to push up your breast, inhaling your soft nipple into his mouth and working it hard in earnest.  “Deal with him 'nother day,” he mumbles and gets back on you.  

He can’t get both breasts exposed at once and you have barely any warning that he’s about to take your top off, but it’s gone in a flash, his too, and he’s pulled you against him with a smacking bounce, his hands running up and down your back while he kisses you, then slides down, his arms around your body and pinning yours to your side.

“There’s no way I’m keeping quiet if you keep on like this Dean,” you warn, watching his head move back and forth across your cleavage and then over your waist.

“Yes you will,” he mumbles.  Your silky shorts move down under the friction of his arms, his teeth and chin helping a little, and he begins to slow his actions as he nuzzles your soft flesh, his tongue lapping and dipping.  He holds your legs tightly, palms pushing the top of your thighs with his fingers splayed over your cheeks.  He nudges his way deeper so he can get his lips around your clit to suck and tongue.

“Shush,” he says, between licks.

“Mmm?”

“Be quiet.”

“I didn’t realise-”

“Put your hand over your mouth,” he suggests.  You raise an eyebrow as you look down on him, his chin tucked into the depth of your crease but his gaze and voice has a tone that stands, so you do.  

As one hand’s fingers work back and forth over his crown, you suddenly become aware of how much noise you want to make while he does this, and it’s frustrating to be held back.  It’s no easier when his attention becomes firmer, nose pushing, tongue harder and the hold of his sucking lips gets tighter and tighter.  The hand on your mouth drops onto his head, grasping hair, and your bursting noise is too loud.

“Goddam it, Y/N,” Dean gripes.  He stands and you pant, whimpering a little as he slips his fingers between your legs and runs a tip back and forth along the crease, barely dipping, only in suggestion. He hands you a condom while he works, your blood-rushed fingers stumbling with the foil before smoothing it over him.

“How am I going to keep you quiet?” he wonders, lips pulling into the steamiest smirk you’ve ever seen on him, his other hand opens and closed low on your back.

“You’re not,” you say defiantly.  “You’re gonna try though.”

“I do love a challenge,” he agrees.

Dean steps around you and leads you to the bed with his chest against your back, crawling you onto the mattress with his knees outside yours. Gently, he pulls your wrist forward, asking you to lean over for him and he slides his hands down your back to hold your hips and guide himself into you.  

You suck your teeth at the fullness and push of him, loving the hungry moans he makes and the time he spends running his fingertips over your hips and down your cheeks, drawing light lines over the shapes he hasn’t seen before.  You wiggle and nuzzle back onto him and he lazily pulls out and moans forward in reply.  It feels wonderful, but mostly tantalises.  Your noises aren’t too loud but clearly impatient.

He reaches over to run his hand across your shoulders, over your hair, then leans and kisses around your neck.  You find his body lengthening and leaning on yours so you move down, laying yourself against the bed with him on top of you, your cheek bone now resting on the edge of the mattress.  

Dean’s body is long enough that his hips can push flush against the seat of your ass, but his face is still right at your shoulder, kissing slowly around your neck as he shifts back and forth a little.  You’re stuck under him, but with his slow motions you’re able to breathe fairly well.  He takes your wrists resting beside your shoulders, turns them inward and lets you lean up so he can cross them under your sternum.  Your breasts are relieved somewhat and with your chest lifted onto your forearms your belly can breathe even more, but you can’t move your arms at all.

Again he pushes his hips back and forth, the dragging making you sigh with its special tilt and tickle.  His weight on you makes your front slightly taught, pulling your groin deliciously and when he pushes into you his legs clench yours together.  Your heart jumps a little as you feel his hand slowly slide under you, under the dip of your hip, and finds your folds.  He works his fingers in there and snugly settles his middle and third finger either side of your clit, almost pinching it.  And there he pauses, everything as he would like.  

In the corner of your vision you can see Dean’s gaze looking over your face.  He tucks you hair behind your ear and brushes it aside as you rest your cheek on the mattress, your gaze on the floor.

“Can you breathe okay?” he asks quietly.

“Enough,” you reply.  

He kisses under your ear and nibbles the shell, whispering “You don’t know what it’s taking for me to move slowly.”

“You don’t know how hard it is not to fight you,” you say tightly, feeling him smile against your skin.  You turn your head as far as you can and he leans up to kiss you, affectionately and happily.  

“Yeah I probably shouldn’t like that as much as I do,” he murmurs, soft lips bouncing over your cheek.

“Ugh yeah, its crazy hot,” you groan.

“You gonna be quiet for me sweetheart?” he smirks, his voice low and bossy, back on the game.

You groan, “Oh Dean, please don’t ask that of me,” and drop your forehead to the bed.

“Hmmm… Let me help,” he says, and wraps his hand over your mouth.  

That alone has your pulse sky-rocketing, but then he thrusts and his hips push you over his fingers, back and forth, the pressure on your clit far greater than you expected.  You make a surprised cry behind his hand, lifting your head.  He takes a deep breath.  

Again, he pushes out and in, letting your bone roll over his pressure and zapping your nerves, the spark shooting up the centre of your body to your throat and down inside your knees.  You think he must have electricity between his fingers, and the lengthening of your body under him, the stretch of your soft flesh over your pubic bone, does nothing but heighten the sensations. You can’t curl against him, you can’t wiggle your hips to direct him, you can barely even encourage him.  His kisses on your muscles are becoming toothy, and the word 'mercy’ crosses your mind…

“You feel good, Y/N,” Dean moans, his voice vibrating along the length of your neck.

“Mmmhhh,” you say through your nose.

“Should I keep going?”

You blink and breathe, saying _Yes_ behind his hand and push back onto him however well you can.  

He kisses you and gently pulls your head back.  His tongue runs up the edge of your ear, and dances the lightest contact over the nape of your neck and around the hairline, letting his breath tickle you enough to make you shiver and pull on his hand.  Mid twinge, he thrusts again, pushing a moan out of you.  Before you can decide if you want more or less he keeps at it, fucking into you and fucking you onto his fingers, dragging his cock over your g-spot.

Quickly, you’re not sure if you’ll last here, and you hope your noises tell him something, that he’ll somehow read your mind and give you what you want, but that’s as far as your thinking goes.  His fast building rhythm muscles out all space for thought and all your focus narrows to what he’s doing to you, the breathy sound of your name, and holding on for as long as you can.

Just as he asked, your noises begin to drop away, but not for lack of intensity or desire.  From where he is you seem to be staving off the threshold, frowning furiously through the pleasure, but he doesn’t want to draw it out or string you along; he wants you satisfied.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice bouncing.  “Come.”

You twitch your head _no_ and whimper in denial.  He slides his legs between yours, his thrust raising your hips, pulling on your pussy, his bone nudging your ass sweetly. Your moan quavers but you still frown stubbornly.

“Come,” he says firmly.  The next few fucks are even deeper, harder, and he slips his fingers side to side under you as he slides his hand to your throat, supporting your jaw as you burst with noise, near wailing at the release.  You gasp deeply as your orgasm smashes from your pussy, through your bones and taut body, racking you as you yell “Dean!” and scratch your nails over your own chest.

He pulls out and pulls your knee up and over to roll you onto your back, your head almost hanging off the bed but for his hold. He thrusts back in and swallows your aching noises with drowning kisses, fucking you relentlessly as your body throws waves of dazzling vibrations over you.  Five thrusts, maybe six, and he’s there too, grunting shakily between sucking gasps, your limbs hugging him loosely like a curled leaf while the pulsing of your pussy finally weakens.

Then he stops, balls deep and clasps your head between his hands to press his forehead to yours. You find your hands are already over his ears and flex your fingers through his hair.  You drag your foot down the back of his thigh, all gestures of thanks and affection but really you’re just not passing out.

“I think Sam heard me,” you gasp.

“…Maybe,” he scratches out.

“I screamed your name.”

“…Oh, I dunno-”

“I screamed it,” you insist.  “It hurt my throat.”

Dean doesn’t reply, so you open your eyes to see him looking at you like he’s trying to map your eyelashes.  He slides his cheek over yours, going meaning to soothe your neck with kisses, but you hold him there. “I want you,” you say firmly, “to do that as often as you can.”  And find you have the strength to smile.

He smiles back rolls himself side to side a little, his softness slipping out of you.  You begin to engage your arms and legs again, the both of you rocking with affection and hugging, the kisses light and soft, almost playful as you caress hair and skin.

“He probably slept through it,” you murmur.

“You know what?” he sighs.  “The up shot is that you actually did scream my name.”  He smiles with somewhat muted pride, explaining “If you’d skipped that he might’ve burst through the door to save you.”

“Oh no,” you mock moan, “so much explaining.”

“Huh,” he imagines the scene as he removes and ties off the condom, chucking it into the bin.

“You think he would’ve been up for it?” you wonder.

“Oh, don’t even joke,” he says quickly.  “Fuck… _no_.” You giggle and he lays back on you, rolling your bodies over the mattress, and wrapping the blanket over you

“But I’ll tell him,” he says, caressing your hair, “coz I don’t wanna hide us.  I wanna enjoy you, every which way.”

You look up at him from your spot on this chest, and you know what he means.  “Like, snuggling during movies and letting me rest my feet on your lap during research,” you describe.

“Yeah, that stuff,” he sighs, his gaze warm and, dare you say it, loving. “All of it… Getting you in shotgun.”

You suck your teeth.  Poor Sam.  “Ooooh there’s gonna be tears.”


End file.
